Horizon before dawn

Moving out of the cave with eighteen battered people was no easy task. It took us two grueling days to reach our old-world base. The journey was slow, weaving through dense woods and avoiding every Carja patrol we spotted. The constant tension, paired with exhaustion, weighed heavily on all of us, but we pressed on step by step we moved closer to safety.

Along the way, we began to know each other better. The eleven Nora among us shared a common pain, they were all outcasts, shunned by their tribe for different reasons and captured separately during their exile. They had no homes to return to, no tribe to welcome them back. For them, staying with us was less a choice and more a necessity.

The three Utaru, on the other hand, were farmers by trade, not fighters. Their delicate hands and soft movements betrayed their inexperience with the dangers of the wild. To leave us now would mean certain death, whether from machines, predators, or Carja hunters. They clung to us like fragile leaves in a storm, hoping our strength could shield them from a fate they weren't prepared to face.

The Banuk hunters, though hardened and resourceful, faced a different dilemma. Their tribe lay far to the north, but the path back was fraught with peril. Machines prowled the open plains, and Carja forces patrolled every pass. For a two-person team weakened by captivity, the journey home was a death sentence.

As we trudged through the forest, our conversations became a lifeline, weaving fragile threads of trust between us. Stories of loss, survival, and distant homes filled the quiet hours. The Nora spoke of their banishment, each tale different but equally painful. The Utaru shared memories of their verdant lands and the songs they used to sing to their crops, their voices tinged with longing. The Banuk told of harsh winters in the north and their unyielding determination to endure.

Despite our differences, a fragile bond began to form. Each of us had been cast adrift in some way, and now we found ourselves tied together by circumstance and necessity.

By the time we finally reached the old-world base, we were exhausted, physically, emotionally, and mentally. But we were alive, and for the first time in days, there was a sense of relief. The sight of the base felt like a beacon of hope for everyone.

Now, the real challenge began, turning this ragtag group of survivors into something more.

The survivors were finally resting, scattered throughout the old-world base. Some were tending to their wounds, while others huddled together, speaking in hushed tones. Albedo and I stood near the edge of the base, overlooking the forest we had painstakingly navigated.

"Eighteen people," Albedo said, her voice low as she leaned against a tree. "Eighteen mouths to feed, bodies to shelter, and minds to train. This isn't going to be easy, i will need to go to Mothers Crown for supplies."

I crossed my arms, staring into the dark woods. "It never is. But they're here now. If we don't prepare them, they won't survive the next threat."

She nodded, her gaze distant. "We'll need to break them into smaller groups, focus on their strengths. The Nora are already familiar with the wilds, they know how to hunt and move quietly. They'll be easier to train as scouts or trackers."

"Agreed," I said. "The Banuk... they're hunters too, but their strength lies in their resilience. We could push them harder, prepare them for more direct combat roles."

Albedo tilted her head, considering. "That leaves the Utaru. Farmers aren't fighters, and they're not built for endurance like the Banuk and we cant farm just yet. But..." She tapped a finger against her chin. "They have steady hands. Maybe they could learn to craft. Traps, medicines, arrows—things that keep the rest of us alive?"

I nodded, a plan beginning to take shape in my mind. "It's not just about fighting. They need to feel like they're contributing, like they have a purpose here. If we give them roles, something to work toward, they'll find their strength."

Albedo turned to me, her expression sharp. "And what about discipline? They're from different tribes, different ways of life. If they don't respect you or each other this whole thing falls apart."

"That's on me." I said firmly. "I'll earn their respect. Show them I'm not just someone giving orders, but someone who's willing to fight alongside them i will show them a new way, new weapons and tactics."

She gave a small, approving nod. "Good. But we'll need to start immediately. If the Carja or machines find us here, we won't have time to get them ready."

I glanced back at the survivors, huddled in the faint light of the base. They looked fragile, but beneath the weariness, I saw the faint glimmer of determination.

"Tomorrow, we start." I said, my voice steady. "We train them to survive, to fight, to protect each other. No one gets left behind."

Albedo smirked faintly, her usual icy demeanor softening for just a moment. "Bold words, your majesty. Let's see if they're ready to follow their king."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Not a king yet, Albedo. Just someone trying to do the right thing."

She turned back toward the camp, her tone thoughtful. "Sometimes, that's exactly what a king is."

"Albedo, I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, or the day after that. But I do know I can't do this without you."

She tilted her head, studying me, her sharp features softening. "You've got a lot of people depending on you, Noir. Eighteen lives hanging in the balance. Are you sure you can afford to think about… this?"

I hesitated, then shook my head. "No. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that waiting for the right moment means waiting forever. We're alive now, and that's all the reason I need."

Her lips curved into a faint smile, one that warmed the cold edges of her demeanor. "You always were reckless. Bold. It's maddening sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" I teased, stepping even closer.

She let out a soft laugh, the sound rare and fleeting. "Don't push your luck."

But she didn't move away when I reached for her hand. Her grip was firm, steady, and when she looked at me again, the vulnerability in her eyes had given way to something stronger.

"You're right," she said quietly. "We don't know what tomorrow will bring. But for tonight…" She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm with you."

Her lips met mine in a brief, heated kiss that spoke of trust.

"Tomorrow, we fight," I said, my voice low but steady. "But tonight, we live."

Albedo nodded, her smirk returning as she stepped back toward the camp. "Don't get used to me going easy on you, your majesty."

I chuckled, following her.